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POMPEII 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



By WILLIAM GILES DIX. 



^S OF co.,(.^X 

1876. ;; 



BOSTON : 
WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY. 

1848. 



s*'' 



x^y 



Eulered according lo Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by 
W. G. Dix, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 

Massachusetts. 



C A IVI B R 1 D G E : 

METCALF AND COMPANY, 

PRINTERS TO THB UNIVERSITY. 



TO 

MY MOTHER, 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIREI*, 

WITH 

FILIAL ESTEEM, GRATITUDE, 

AND 

AFFECTION. 



PREFACE. 



The sixth poem in this volume requires a 
brief remark. Although the writer has felt 
— as probably all have done who ever saw 
Mr. Allston — the inspiration of his presence, 
he had not a personal acquaintance with him. 
Consequently, the poem is but a stranger's 
tribute to the Painters memory ; yet, what- 
ever be its imperfections, at least it may show 
that a man, whose life is the expression of 
intellectual beauty, may be venerated by one 
who may not be a known and professed ad- 
mirer of his genius and character. 

The writer has not seen all the paintings 
by Mr. Allston to which he has made allu- 
sion, yet, in fulfilling his idea, he deemed it 
well to introduce what he believes are re- 
garded as among the chief works of the 
Artist, whether he had seen them all or not. 



Vi PREFACE. 

He thought of changing the measure of the 
poem, but after making the attempt with a 
portion which, in its changed form, is inserted 
in a Note, he relinquished the design. 

The subject of the next piece was proposed 
as the theme of an academical exercise. After 
considering the two exquisite poems which 
the theme presented, the writer felt that, al- 
though each poem may be a complete expres- 
sion of its subject, the mind, after dwelling 
upon both, needs the presentation of an ele- 
mental Christian truth ; and he closed his 
essay with a call upon Mr. Bryant to write 
the sequel to his eloquent and affecting " Vis- 
ion of Death." The writer has himself 
added some stanzas that imperfectly express 
his intention, but he earnestly hopes that 
Mr. Bryant will answer the call, so that the 
same hand that has led us to the dark valley 
may also point upward to the hills that shine 
with unfading light. 

W. G. D. 

Camuuidgk, Scptemher. 1848. 



CONTENTS. 



PAtlK 

POMPEII 1 

THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA . 49 

A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY . . . .59 

THE pilgrim's EVENING PRAYER FOR HARVARD 

COLLEGE ...... 65 

AN ADDRESS TO THE POET LONGFELLOW . 71 

A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON 

ALLSTON ...... 75 

THOUGHTS ON GRAY's ELEGY AND BRYANT's 

THANATOPSIS 101 

A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE . . . .111 

THE AGED PERSIAN ..... 123 

PALERBIO . . . . . . .141 

NOTE. 

ALPINE SCENERY 157 

LORENZO AND JESSICA ..... 159 



POMPEII. 



POMPEII. 



From where luxurious Naples throws 
Its shadow, when the waves repose, 
Upon the graceful, curving sea, 
That smiles with glad serenity. 
And mingles with the varied view 
About us its delightful blue. 
We go where oft the traveller strays, 
To send the mind to long past days, 
When sweet Italia's verdant plains 
The Romans swayed, and conquered gains 
Enriched a land by nature graced, 
Though since by tyrants long debased. 



POMPEII. 

The way presents us joy intense ; 
Pleased and surprised is every sense. 
The sight is charmed, for every side 
Displays its radiant glories wide ; — 
The mountains, that on high look down 
Upon the castle, tower, and town, 
The islands that adorn the bay, 
The rocky shore, the silvery spray, 
Gardens, resplendent in the day 
With flowers that show the vernal sway. 
The soft and gently-breathing air 
May fragrance of the orange bear, 
And comes to the rapt, listening ear 
The waves' low murmur, sad to hear, 
Which pleasing thoughtfulness inspires. 
And thus with calm, yet strong, desires 
To muse, the mind is all awake. 
And fancy's spell it cannot break. 



POMPEII. 5 

But, though above most fair the scene, 

Decked with bright hills and vineyards green, 

And, marked by nature's sweet device. 

It looks a perfect paradise. 

Beneath, as in a close-kept cage, 

Volcanic fires fret and rage ; 

As oft the face of beauty seems 

To glow with lovelier, brighter beams, 

While slow-consuming hectic dries 

The fount within, that life supplies. 

Behind, the busy hum of life 
We leave, with all its passion, strife, — 
The gay and splendid city, where 
Wealth, gladness, poverty, despair, — 
The ill, the good, the wrong, the right, — 
At every turn invade the sight. 

Thoughtful the silent streets we tread 
Of this wide city of the dead. 



POMPEII. 

And gaze on the now quiet scene, 
Calling to mind what once hath been, 
When not the ;/:urious stranger here 
Alone was walking, moved with fear 
Of God, who can his power employ- 
Both to create and to destroy, — 
Who can a world from darkness call, 
Or hide one 'neath a darker pall ; 
But when, through each close, crowded street, 
Was heard the sound of hurried feet, 
As quicker, nearer, hither came 
The cloud of ashes, whilst the flame 
Of the high, burning, quaking mount, 
Bursting from out the fiery fount. 
From whose wide sources, far below. 
The flaming surges constant flow, 
Cast all abroad a dreadful blaze. 
And now and then the piercing rays 
The heavy, ashen cloud illumed. 
And upward still the mountain fumed. 



POMPEII. 

The dusky air then lost the light, 
And thicker growing, dark as night, 
Resisted the volcanic beam. 
Till not a solitary gleam 
Relieved its awful gloominess, 
In this dark hour of deep distress. 

With what dismay and dread alarms. 
Close pressed within affection's arms, 
Are held the dearest, fondest ones, — 
Fathers and mothers, daughters, sons, — 
While stifled cries and shortened breath 
Proclaim the approach of strangling death 
To all, who in this hour of gloom 
x\wait their sad, terrific doom. 

The multitude, with eager haste, 
Leave their fond homes to be a waste. 
Their choicest treasures they desert 
For life's dear sake, nor dare revert 



8 POMPEII. 

Their faces, as away they flee, 
Far from the margin of the sea. 
Which then Pompeii's walls beside 
Swept its blue, sunny, foaming tide. 

Yet some, who sought — a dread delay — 
Their gems and gold to take away, 
Felt the o'erwhelming, ashen shower. 
That stopped their way with fatal power. 
And left to perish sadly there 
Those who so showed the miser's care. 

The columns of the Forum stand. 
Where oft full many an earnest band. 
Assembling, talked with zeal and might. 
Of freedom, victory, glory, right ; 
Or here, beneath the cloudless day. 
Lauded proud Rome's imperial sway. 
Here many a long procession turned 
To many an altar, that high burned 



POMPEII. 

With sacrificial gifts to Jove, 

Whose aid was nigh, when Romans strove 

To make the name of Roman great 

And wide extend their conquering state. 

To Juno, Mars, and all the train 

Of deities, full many a stain 

Of blood fell on each temple's floor. 

Where worshippers were wont to adore. 

Here, in the sacred song and dance, 

The choirs of youth were used to advance. 

And make the lofty walls around 

With their sweet voices far resound. 

About us broken pillars lie, 

Whose massive forms, in days gone by, 

Supported the majestic fane. 

Or stately arch ; but now in vain 

Their chiselled grandeur meets the sight, 

And graceful architecture light 



9 



10 POMPEII. 

Only the traveller's wonder gains. 
How much around us yet retains 
Some portion of its ancient grace, 
Which years on years cannot efface ! 

When one upon the road-side turns, 
He sees the old, sepulchral urns, 
On which inscriptions to secure 
The memory of the dead endure. 
And here, alas ! how vain we see 
The hope to save one's memory ! 
For these memorials of the great, 
Meeting with them an equal fate. 
Were hidden from the light of day. 
While centuries slowly passed away. 

Mosaic fountains, whence of yore 
Issued the pure and sparkling store, 
Still, by their beauty strange and clear. 
Delight the eye, though now the ear 



POMPEII. 11 

No longer may the murmur sweet 
Of the slow-dripping water greet. 

Among the structures we survey, 
As farther on we bend our way, 
Stands, in its rude and ruined state, 
Partaking of the general fate. 
The theatre, whose tragic spell 
Around the heart entrancing fell, 
As here before the enchanted eve 
Passed the majestic figures by. 
That personated men overcome 
By wrong and grief most wearisome, 
Whose days, in glory nearly passed, 
Were spent in sorrow at the last. 
Here Fate, relentless to pursue 
Her startled victim, to the view 
Her fierce, avenging power displayed. 
Here many a scene of fear was laid. 



12 POMPEII. 

Where enemies in fury meet, 
And with high words and daring greet 
Each other, and in conflict fierce 
Seeks each the odier's heart to pierce. 
Here private malice sought its end ; 
Here secret grief long mourned a friend ; 
Here many a broken heart hath been 
By dread, afflictive arrows keen 
Struck, till all happiness away 
Departed, and the cheerful day 
No longer pleased the enjoying sight, 
But, in its stead, came sorrow's night. 

While mav the actor's wondrous skill 
Observing eyes with pity fill, 
And the sweet, plaintive, choral song, 
Its low, subduing notes prolong. 
Reigns stillness, broken but by sighs 
That from o'erburdened hearts arise, 



POMPEII. 13 

Until at last, when all is o'er, 
The spirit can restrain no more 
Its sobs of agony, that prove 
How deeply may the drama move 
The eager, listening soul, that lies 
Rapt in its tearful symphonies. 

Those who then saw the acted play 
Were actors, on an after day, 
In scenes most tragical and dread, 
When called to flee and leave their dead, 
Whose funeral rites could not be paid. 
And thus the mournful doom was laid 
On these unhallowed souls, to be 
For ages of eternity 
The deep, dark river wandering by, 
And heaving oft the bitter sigh. 
As far they saw the blissful field. 
From their despairing entrance sealed. 



14 POMPEII. 

How sad, distressing, was the thought, 

To leave one's friends to such a lot ! 

To be of one's dear home bereft 

Causes deep woe, and when are left 

Behind the most beloved and near, 

To feel that one will never hear 

Again the sweet, accustomed voice, 

That bade the welcome heart rejoice. 

Fills the departing one with grief 

At first, despairing of relief ; 

If, then, in those yet darkened days, 

When Truth had not far thrown her rays. 

All thought that they should ne'er behold, 

On the Elysian shore of gold. 

Those whose remains were left unblessed, 

Deprived of their sepulchral rest. 

What wonder that keen anguish sore 

The bursting heart asunder tore, — 

That floods of speechless woe were poured 

By those who fled, while high up soared 



POMPEII. 15 

The direful smoke, with mingled flame, 
That from the bursting mountain came ? 

For though the dusty, rolling tide 
That soon destroyed the city's pride 
Buried beneath its load of earth 
The dear forms of departed worth, 
And though they thus most peaceful slept, 
Yet not thus could be rightly kept, 
With all the elements at strife. 
The duty that death claims from life, — 
That high, religious, just demand, 
That by affection's careful hand. 
And not by Nature's fiery zest. 
Should the dead meet their final rest. 

How many in suspense await 
Their absent ones, who, separate. 
Escaped the ruined city's crash. 
The waves of fire, the hghtning's flash ! 



16 POMPEII. 

How many an anxious heart is pained ! 

How many an eager eye is strained, 

Amid the dense, advancing crowds, 

Half-hidden by the lurid clouds. 

Affection's object to discern, 

Or a kind friend, from whom to learn 

If fortune good or ill betide 

One from one's own protecting side 

Parted, — a father, spouse, or child, — 

And all exertion prov^es in vain. 

The loved and lost one to regain ! 

Upon some temple's pavement stand. 
And far observe the beauteous land, 
Diversified with every charm 
That can the heart of grief disarm ; 
And when thou hast well satisfied 
Thine eye with the green prospect wide. 
Then turn thy gaze beneath thy feet. 
Where runs each ancient, narrow street, 



POMPEII. 

And think how full of life and care 
Were multitudes once walking there. 

Behold the dwellings standing yet 
As then, before their doom they met, 
Which was with startling haste fulfilled, 
And the great city's voice was stilled. 

Thou seest not all Pompeii's size. 
Yonder, a part yet covered lies ; 
And where was once the sun to shine, 
All, all is dark. The running vine 
Now sports, in mazy windings green, 
Above where once were ghttering seen 
Structures of various use and grace. 
Whose columns high and marble face 
Looked forth in beauty, when the moon 
Shone out as v/ilh soft-tempered noon. 
Set off the sky's transparent blue. 
And made the earth of lovelier hue. 

2 



18 POMPEII. 

Fewer, yet fewer, in each street 
Echoed the sound of homeward feet ; 
The city's busy din was still. 
Deep shadows fell from every hill ; 
The vineyards' mingled green and red 
Waved gently, as the night-breeze sped, 
Fragrant with odors rich and choice. 
At intervals, the silvery voice 
Of some lone minstrel filled the air, 
That seemed to be all music there. 
And, as he lay in moonlit grove. 
Where hght and shadow graceful strove, 
With his accordant voice his lute 
Remained but for a moment mute. 
With love's soft strain he first began. 
And thus the tender burden ran : — 



POMPEII. 19 

THE ROMAN SONG OF LOVE. 

'Mid all the weary, constant cares 

That crowd my busy way. 
Where many a thorn my sad heart tears, 

Thou art the star whose ray, 

Around me shining bright. 

Makes my dark spirit light. 

Though young in years, in sorrows old, 

I Ve wandered far and wide. 
Where Gallic skies above me rolled, 

And now I seek thy side. 

With thy fond presence blessed, 

O, may my heart have rest ! 

O, deign to hear my earnest prayer. 

Nor turn on me thy frown, 
But, in thy wondrous beauty rare, — 

Brighter than royal crown, — 



20 POMPEII. 

Regard me with a smile, 
That may my care beguile. 

My heart for aye is wholly thine ; — 
Accept the offering. 

Let orange-blossoms, then, entwine 
Thy locks, and I shall sing, — 
" No cloud will me o'ercast, 
For thou art mine at last." 

The minstrel, after a brief rest, 

Felt his soul by some power oppressed. 

That full persuaded him again 

To move his lyre's echoing strain. 

The lover's air he laid aside, 

And thus expressed his loyal pride ; 

For he, whose patriot fervor glows. 

The worthiest is of love's repose : — • 



POMPEII. 21 

THE ROMAN PATRIOT'S SONG. 

Long may imperial glory throw 

Its radiance on the Roman name ! 
Long may Augustus proudly glow 
With consciousness of noblest fame ! 
The Roman eagle's glance, 
The soldier's firm advance, 
Shall aye secure glad victory's hour. 
And fast confirm the Roman power. 

The humbled nations of the earth 

Our armies' bravery and force 
Shall yet confess, and Roman worth 
Shall far pursue her conquering course. 
Where'er the rising day 
Extends a single ray. 
There shall imperial purple shine. 
The victor's brow a wreath entwine. 



22 POMPEII. 

'T is not by arms alone, and might, 

Shall we true, great renown sustain, 
But arts of peace and mental light 
Shall send rich blessings in their train. 
Inspiring eloquence 
Shall far and wide dispense 
The full, sonorous Latin tongue. 
With which our Senate oft has rung. 

The cadence, too, of Virgil's song. 

And notes of many a kindred bard. 
Shall pour their swelling tide along. 
Their native speech for ever guard. 
Romans may pass away. 
Their sceptre may decay, 
But, long as shall the world endure. 
Remembrance shall their tongue secure. 

As here was once a maiden's hand 
Pressed by affection, and the land 



POMPEII. 23 

Of one's free birth with praise was sung, — 
As here the clarion loudly rung, 
As forth to battle fared the brave, 
Their foes to conquer, and to save 
Their martial honor unimpaired. 
Who deeds of glory proudly dared ; — 
So here all other passions strove 
Beside desire of fame and love. 

The thirst for gain the heart consumed, 
Which nobler heat should have illumed ; 
Revenge her arrow planted deep 
Within the soul that could not sleep ; 
And envy stared, with sullen eye. 
As merit justly praised went by. 

Here unrelenting, deadly hate 
Sustained with constancy the weight 
That downward bore the gloomy mind. 
That would no spark of love refined 



24 POMPEII. 

Admit within its dark abode. 
And thus the hateful, heavy load 
Made all the fairest scenes of earth 
A wilderness, where all was dearth 
Of every joyous, beauteous thing. 
And yet, the while, the birds might sing 
Their morning, noon, and evening strain. 
But it increased the spirit's pain. 
That saw, nor heard, nor felt the power 
Of loveliness, whom not the hour 
Of calmest night, serene and still. 
Could e'er deprive of thought of ill. 

Here, too, each natural, milder grace 
Found, without doubt, some resting-place. 
The generous tear of sympathy, 
The sorrows of a friend to see, 
Moistened the cheek, and gave relief 
To e'en the gloomiest, dullest grief. 



POMPEII. 25 

Here, when the gloomy, mortal shade 

Gathered about some lovely maid, 

Whose presence was a sweet delight, 

A ray of glory beaming bright. 

Tears, copious tears, of fond regret 

Announced that ray for ever set. 

For, throughout every age of time, 

And throughout every soil and clime. 

Wherever man extends his name. 

The heart still feels and mourns the same. 

Those tears were signs that deeply showed, 

How, in this crowded, fair abode. 

The love of kindred, friendship's chain, 

Bound heart to heart, for joy or pain. 

And listen how the minstrel's lay, 

That sounded, at the close of day. 

The notes that love and home had fired. 

Was now by sympathy inspired. 

His low, funereal, plaintive strain 

Thus warbled o'er the moonlit plain : — 



.h> po^nn. 



THE SONG OF SORROW. 

Roses of sweetest odors bring:. 

To grace a maiden^s early bier. 
Meanwhile, let sister maidens sing; 

A mournful chant ; for one most dear 
Haih perished by an arrow keen. 

From the full, mortal quiyer sent. 
O, ne''er was deeper sorrow seen, 

O, De''er were heads more lowly bent ! 

The airy grace, the liyely glance. 

No more shall happiness impart. 
Alas ! alas ! an endless trance 

Holds in its grasp the beating heart ; 
The thrilling music of her tone 

No more shall charm the fayored ear ; 
Soon will she dwell in gloom alone. 

Without one friend beloyed near. 



POMPEII. 27 

The summer air once on her brow 

Breathed perfume from the orange-trees ; 
As gently, sweetly, purely, now, 

Where she will rest, soft plays the breeze. 
Roses of sweetest odors bring 

To grace a maiden's early bier ; 
Let sister maidens plaintive sing 

A dirge for one they held most dear. 

And, too, the bridal wreath entwined 
Some maiden's brow, where sat enshrined 
Beauty, more beautiful that seemed 
While joy transcendent richly gleamed, 
And, like serenest sunshine, threw 
A softened, quiet bhss, that drew 
From all the hope, the wish, the prayer, 
That all good deites would there 
Repose their sacred, deep impress. 
That should life's fortune ever bless. 



28 POMPEII. 

Her happiness the hard would sound 
Through all the startled echoes round. 
Not soon, howe'er, could he inspire 
With notes of joy his plaintive lyre ; 
The tender song he just had sung 
Still mournfully about him clung, 
And when he sought to touch a string, 
Remembrance would her arrow fling 
Into his heart. The spellbound hand 
Fell motionless, while softly fanned 
His brow the selfsame odorous air. 
Which he had sung once blessed the fair. 
At length he dried dear friendship's tear. 
And thus his verse fell on the ear 
Of those, who wandered at the hour 
When most is felt calm nature's power 
To soothe the mind by grief oppressed^ 
To give the troubled spirit rest. 
With thoughtfulness to tame high mirth. 
To give to calm reflection birth : — 



POMPEII. 29 



THE SONG OF JOY. 



Weave garlands of roses, 

Of sweetest perfumes, 
There culled where reposes 

Sunlight that illumes, 
With rays blandest, mildest. 

And softened by shade, 
Some scene of delight, best 

Of all that are made. 

The lute, softly breathing. 

The air fills with song, 
And sweet voices thrilling 

Accordant prolong 
The gay, lively measure 

Saluting the ear. 
All give happy leisure 

Dispersing all fear. 



30 POMPEII. 

A lovely young maiden 

Is soon to be wed. 
All happily laden 

The past days have fled, — 
All blissful and lovely 

Fond hope they fulfil. 
In hymning all join me, 

Let no voice be still. 

Ye stars, O, serenely 

Shine ye upon her. 
And, zephyrs, breathe calmly, — 

The summer leaves stir. 
May ne'er heavy grief be 

At hand to annoy. 
And, years, may ye brightly 

Move, crowned with deep joy. 

How passionate the songs he sang ! 
The echoes of his lyre rang 



POMPEII. 31 

Among the foliage thick and green, 
That played in air with dancing sheen. 
The half-hid birds from sleep awoke, 
When first his lute the silence broke. 
So far from being moved with fear. 
They bent their tiny heads to hear 
The strange, intruding melody. 
As quickly oped each slumbering eye ; 
And when the varying notes were o'er, 
Their little throats began to pour 
A full, impulsive, eager lay. 
As though each songster were a fay, 
That understood the mortal's words. 
And when the gentle, answering birds 
Had filled the grove with music's thrill, 
They sank to rest, and all was still, 
Save when, with hand that could not tire. 
The minstrel touched the tuneful wire. 

But love and hate, determined will, 
And ever)' passion, now are still. 



32 POMPEII. 

The sad, severe, bereaving doom 

Made of the beauteous town a tomb, 

And stifled, too, for ever there 

Alike all joy and all despair. 

The hallowed scenes of love and home 

Were buried, while were forced to roam 

The brave, whose hearts were nerved 'gainst fear, 

Those who let fall soft mercy's tear. 

They who, whh loving hearts endowed. 

Were oft by sore affliction bowed, — 

Those who were by ambition pressed, 

They who enjoyed soft riches' rest. 

The mourners' tearful, sorrowing band. 

The bridal pair, too, hand in hand. 

And those who nursed consuming hate, — 

All these ahke felt iron fate. 

And wandered while, with furious power. 

Came the destroying, cloudy shower, 

Which soon would far beneath it merge 

All dwellings with its dusty surge. 



POMPEII. 33 

Within Pompeii's pleasing shade, 
Where cool, refreshing breezes played, 
Were spent the burning, summer days ; 
Here were relieved the sun's full rays, 
And many a pilgrim here retired. 
To find the rest his mind required. 

Here, oft, with gladness, to repair 
His spirit, pressed by pubHc care. 
For a brief while forsaking Rome, 
Great Cicero was wont to come. 
In this retreat, how oft may he 
Have mused on immortality. 
Or, gathering friends, here spent the time 
In converse deep, serene, sublime. 
Till all who heard e'en wished the day 
Would its unceasing motion stay. 
Lest its too soon departing beam 
Should interrupt the inspiring theme ! 



34 POMPEII. 

What thoughts one has, to wander through 

The villa, where the statesman drew 

Of intellectual light a store 

From the resplendent Grecian lore ! 

His form seems still to haunt the place, 

His features seem the wall to grace. 

Turning, almost we seem to hear 

His own majestic voice and clear, 

In sparkling cadence, throw around 

Its low and full, melodious sound. 

As once the orator reclined. 

While fragrant played the summer wind. 

He deeply thought upon the fate 

Of every ancient, noble state. 

And hoped for some blest, future hour 

That should confirm a nation's power 

By noblest principles of right. 

By heavenly wisdom's peaceful might, 

And thus, contemplative at rest, 

He poured the longing of his breast : — 



POMPEII. 35 



CICERO'S MEDITATION. 

On Plato's philosophic dream, 
In which he would to us portray 

What his rapt thoughts may truly deem 
The least imperfect human sway, 

I 've mused, while shone the sun's full beam, 
Until mild evening closed the day ; 

And I have my own thoughts expressed 

On government I judged the best. 

Yet something there is wanting still, 
I know not how to call its name, — 

Some power above the human will, 
That shall man's fiery passions tame. 

And his deep soul with wisdom fill ; 
His mind illume with brighter flame 

Than aught of earthly source can bring. 

No muse its excellence can sing. 



36 POMPEII. 

For what avails the highest form 

By which the world may governed be, 

If it yet feel the bitter storm 

Of avarice, wrath, and cruelty, — 

Which by their noxious force deform 
A state, though blessed with hberty ? 

For human error may despoil 

Of all good end man's noblest toil. 

Whence but from heaven can come the aid 
To guide aright an earthly state, 

That vice and crime may not invade 
Its bright domain, or deadly hate 

Pursue its desolating trade ? 

How long shall mankind pining wait, 

Until shall come that holy hour. 

When earth shall feel celestial power ? 

O, soon may Heaven descend to bless 
The world with a serener light, 



POMPEII. 



37 



That man no more may dare oppress 
His brother, or deprive of right* 

Some neighbour, haply favored less 
By wavering fortune's conquering might. 

Almighty Deity and blessed. 

Put human ill and strife to rest ! 

Yet further on our way we bend. 
From where the level streets extend, 
That, excavated, open lie. 
As ages long since, to the sky. 

The interval is widely sown 

With plants, and by the vine o'ergrown. 

Below the cultivated plain. 

Parts of the city yet remain. 

And, doubtless, now are full of grace, 

As when the people fled the place. 

Yet not as when a city wide 

Hath been overflowed by the awful tide. 



38 POMPEII. 

And, on a calm and sunny day, 
When scarce a ripple stirs the bay. 
One may, with startled eye, look down 
Upon, below, the buried town ; — 
Not so may one here, awe-struck, gaze 
Upon the covered city's ways, 
So hidden from the mild sunlight, 
Once so abounding with delight. 

All, all above is fair to view. 
Luxuriant, 'neath the heaven's blue. 
Close by the vine-clad, sunny scene. 
That shows its constant, emerald green. 
The Amphitheatre behold. 
Strange and majestic, massive, old. 
There wild beasts died with many throes, 
There were the gladiatorial shows. 

A still more dreadful deed hath been 
Enacted on that bloody scene. 



POMPEII. 39 

Thus, from the dungeon's gloom profound, 
Where lay the victim, 'neath the ground, 
Where scarce the air could lend a breath 
To keep away desired death. 
Slow warbled out the martyr's strain, 
Who sang in joy, though bent with pain : — 

THE MARTYR'S HYMN. 

This frame to-morrow's light shall see 

Torn by the monster of the wild ; 
And all-ingenious cruelty 

Shall fall on me, the humblest child 
Of that religion of the cross, 

That radiates from Calvary. 
Who would not count all good a loss 

For what has been revealed to me ? 

Not many years upon the world 

Hath shone the Gospel ray serene ; 



40 POMPEII. 

Not long hath been the flag unfurled. 
On which the holy dove is seen. 

If He who brought immortal life 
Was ignominiously hurled 

To death by men of wrath and strife, 

While lips of scorn crowds, gazing, curled,- 

Who would reluctant be to fall 

Beneath hard persecution's power ? 
For Christ, my Lord, my soul shall call. 

To enjoy its heavenly, blissful dower. 
No iron bands my soul can cage, — 

Soon shall I see my Father's hall. 
Glad will I meet the lion's rage ; 

I fear not death's most gloomy pall. 

Farewell, thou glory of the sky ! 

Farewell, ye lovely scenes of earth ! 
A few brief hours more, — I die ; — 

Farewell, dear friends of choicest worth ! 



POMPEII. 41 

On me, the victim of the crowd, 
Soon shall the maddened lion fly ; 

Then shall ascend applauding loud. 

Farewell, O earth ! my heaven is nigh. 

The morrow's sun with usual pace 
Comes, and unmoved is nature's face, 
And men, with hard, unpitying hand, 
The victim lead upon the sand 
That covers o'er the central spot. 
Where were the fearful contests fought. 
And thus the martyr's dying prayer 
Ascendeth in the balmy air : — 

'' Those who with scorn have hither brought 
My wasted frame, no more to live, 

But here to die, where beasts have fought. 
Father in heaven, I pray, forgive ! 

To pardon those who do us wrong 
By Christ, my Saviour, I am taught. 



42 POMPEII. 

I cannot close my earthly song, 

Till love towards all in me be wrought. 
My heart respondeth to my cry, — 
Father, forgive them, ere I die ! " 

His voice, amid the murmurs gay 

Around him, flies, unheard, away. 

And the Almighty's ear alone 

Can hear his mild, forgiving tone. 

Yet seraphs hover at the hour 

To nerve him with supernal power. 

Upward he gazes on the skies. 

And, hark ! what awful sounds arise ! 

For now, upon that circling plain 

The ravenous Hon, from his chain 

Set loose, boundeth, as from his lair, 

And the meek Christian martyr there 

Tears with relentless, hungry haste, 

As once, upon his native waste. 

Some weaker animal he slew. 

The breathless crowds with rapture view 



POMPEII. 43 

The mangled limbs and streaming blood. 
That satisfy the beast with food 
And their stern eyes with gladness dread, 
Exulting o'er the martyred dead. 

When the mysterious hours were past, 
In which Pompeii was o'ercast, 
How desolate the place and rude 
Where had the beauteous city stood ! 
The noble structures Art had made 
Were now full deep in darkness laid. 
The troubled, quaking mount became 
Disrobed of its red, bursting flame ; 
The airy birds that through the sky 
Swept their majestic flight and high, 
That once were wont a glance to throw 
Upon the busy scene below, 
Now swept their circuit with affright 
Far from the city's barren site ; 
And not a single eye could meet 
Temple or dwelling, fount or street, — 



44 POMPEII. 

Only a dreary, earthy mound, — 
And not of life a single sound 
Was heard by any hearkening ear. 
The lonely heart awhile to cheer ; 
But deepest silence o'er the plain 
And hill held undisturbed its reign. 

And then no longer from the bay. 

That girt the shore with murmuring spray. 

Could be Pompeii's glory seen, 

Which for long periods had been 

A lovely picture to the sight. 

When lying 'neath the moon's mild light. 

Many a year now passed away ; 
There still the buried city lay. 
Returning, in the summer time, 
From some remote, provincial clime, 
An aged man revisited 
The spot where he his youth had led ; 



POMPEII. 45 

His silvered brow betrayed his years ; 
His dim eyes were suffused with tears. 

On a low hill-side he reclined, 

And thoughts of sorrow crossed his mind ; 

For when the effacing hand of age 

Hath swept from recollection's page 

The traces of that busy time, 

Bold manhood's stern and growing prime, 

Yet on the plate of memory 

There still as bright as ever lie 

The sunny joys of youthful years, 

Which age advancing more endears. 

The wanderer gazed awhile apart ; 
At rest he could not keep his heart. 
Reposing thus, in quiet shade. 
His spirit's sadness he displayed : — 



46 POMPEII. 



THE SIGH OF THE WANDERER. 

O, ne'er shall I forget the day, — 
What horror seized my frame, 

When I was forced to flee away 
From dread volcanic flame. 

I saw the scenes I loved the best 
O'erswept by waves of dust, — 

Scenes where parental love caressed, 
Scenes of love's early trust. 

How vividly a father's smile, 

A mother's joyful tear. 
Are present to my mind, the while 

I linger sadly here ! 

Here first love's calm, resistless power 
.My waiting heart entranced, 



POMPEII. 47 

And, still increasing every hour, 
My new delight enhanced. 

No greeting, welcome smile I see ; 

No friends on my return 
Now live and love to look on me, — 

They lie in the lone urn. 

It is a sad, but sweet delight 

They who are used to roam 
May feel, when meets their pining sight 

Their own beloved home. 

Yet hence not only friends are gone, 

But home itself hath fled. 
And here I, thoughtful, muse alone, 

On friends and home both dead. 

Strength is no longer granted me 
My breaking heart to stay ; 



48 POMPEII. 

Resplendent sights are dark, — they flee, 
They are faded now away. 

His weary frame no more could bear, 
His voice no longer stirred the air. 
He looked once on the quiet sky, 
And fell, and heaved his last, sad sigh. 



THOUGHTS 



ON 



THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA 



T H O U G H T S 



ON 



THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



While by sweet Andalusia winds our way, 
And breezes light press on the loosened sail, 
And waves divided throw their shining spray, 
We read Granada's sad, heroic tale. 
Where the tall mountain and the lowly dale 
Are seen, there dwelt the haughty Moorish race. 
The morning sunbeams now rejoicing hail 
The lovely scenes, decked with such varied 

grace ; 
\.ll beautiful and still now seems calm nature's 

face. 



52 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 

And now, subsided to a silent calm, 
The summer winds and waves reposing lie, — 
As 'mong the isles where springs the lofty pali 
The quiet air seemeth but nature's sigh. 
We cannot throw his graphic pages by, 
Who, in the name of Fray Antonio, writes 
The conquest of the noble region nigh. 
Whose glory e'en the glancing eye delights. 
Alas ! what interest sad hangs o'er the fain 
sights ! 

For that wide theatre of mountains high. 
Which look down on the ghttering sea below 
And lift their snow-clad summits to the sky. 
Once saw beneath a tide of blood to flow. 
And views of carnage dread their valleys kno 
There fought the Christian and the Infidel , 
With lance and sword, and arquebuse and bo^ 
What scenes of horror history cannot tell. 
Which there the dusky Moor, and Spaniard tc 
befell ! 



THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 53 

The Cross and Crescent many a silken fold 
Of rich-embroidered standards there displayed ; 
Determined warriors, unrelenting, bold, 
The fierce defence and fiercer onset made, 
As oft as each the other dared invade. 
Granada's day of splendor shines no more. 
As when her people turbaned heroes swayed. 
Their sceptre long invincible they bore 
)'er fertile regions wide, girt by the winding 
shore. 

And now one sees upon the soil of Spain, 
Sometimes^ a Moor, walking with downcast eye, 
As though the sight of hill and verdant plain, 
From which his ancestors were forced to fly. 
Oppressed his heart, and caused it much to sigh ; 
\ For now, a stranger in his father-land, 
i He wanders, with no home or kindred nigh. 
I The same groves are by vernal breezes fanned, 
Vhich once his fathers owned. His home is 
Afric's strand. 



54 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 

As through the Alhambra's splendid halls anc 

courts 
A Moorish prince was straying, rapt in thought 
And gazing on the lofty towers and forts, 
Which, in protracted siege, the Christians soug 
And to their work their warlike engines brough 
Although his manly brow could know no fear. 
And his sharp eye in peril would droop not, 
Yet could he not restrain the bitter tear. 
As long tradition drew past scenes and glories near 

What sorrow, agony, and deep despair. 
The plea of conquest for the faith hath made ! 
What plans aggressive and ambitious care 
Have been exhibited in war's vile trade. 
While, to excuse all bloodshed, it was said. 
That to bring on the long-expected hour 
Of Christian triumph was the sly train laid ! 
How oft the cross has glistened on the tower 
That avarice rudely seized, to raise its worldb 
power ! 



THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 55 

Within Granada's flowery, wide domain, 
Strove rival kings to gain supremacy. 
The father's hand against his son in vain 
Was raised, who sought himself by craft to be 
Granada's sovereign. In humihty 
His crown usurped he long was forced to wear, 
And for his filial wrong, indignity 
From all compelled was he in grief to bear ; 
Of dire misfortune hard he had a constant share. 

The proud Alhambra, where his fathers reigned. 
He saw seized firmly by the Christian's might ; 
His sumptuous palaces strong force obtained. 
Their glory fades for ever from his sight. 
When far away, in ignominious flight. 
He speeds, and turns a sad eye, full of tears. 
On what had been a kingly, sweet delight, 
Where he had felt joy mixed with many fears. 
Alas ! the unpitying wind his sigh of sorrow hears. 



56 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 

That other proud usurper also fled, 
Disrobed of all his laurels and his crown. 
Despoiled by conquerors, at last he sped 
Across the sea, there during life to drown 
Thoughts of past greatness and his subjects' frown 
He came to feel how infinitely worse 
Hoped friends than foes may be. In soul cast dowi 
And dazzled blind by cruelty, a curse 
He hopes the weary years will soon his powers dis 
perse. 

Yonder the heights of Malaga display 
Their castled might. The city just below 
Seems like pavilions in its white array. 
The proud cathedral's fretted splendors show 
That Christians triumphed o'er their Moorish foe. 
Who Gibralfaro's threatening walls long kept 
Firm 'gainst the bold besieger's hostile blow. 
And warriors fought, and mothers grieving w^ept. 
While near their children starved in death's em- 
braces slept. 



THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GBANADA. 57 

And, all along, the turrets one may see, 
Which, from aggression to secure their coast, 
The Moors erected. They have come to be 
The tokens only of their haughty boast. 
Who thought invincible their warlike host. 
High deeds of daring were by all displayed, 
In taking and defending every post ; 
Conquered and conquerors at last are made 
Equal by time and death. How soon all laurels fade ! 

Would that the Spanish heart once more would 

thriU 
With noble purposes and daring high ! 
Would that the Spaniards had a bold, strong will, 
Not in hard war to cause their foes to fly. 
But all the arts of prosperous peace to trj', 
To gain a victory o'er their indolence. 
To be resolved like men to live or die, 
To be against themselves their best defence ! 
Then Spain would wide abound with happiness 

intense. 



58 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA. 

The royal splendors of the double crown, 

Of Ferdinand and Isabella's sway, 

Have long since fled, and long has been cast 

down 
The conquering spirit of their regal day. 
But who shall not with greatest truth now say, 
Let but a bold and generous aim inspire 
The darkened soul of Spain with wisdom's ray, 
Let that soul once with zealous, constant fire 
Of just ambition move to gain its high desire ; 

A prouder glory than bright diadem. 
Conquest o'er foes, or gaining lands of gold, 
Would then adorn the Spaniards, and lift them 
High, where true fame's enduring wreaths enfold 
Nations industrious in peace, and bold 
A great career, and just and pure, to run. 
The warmest breath of war's praise would grow 

cold. 
Would Spain low, vile pursuits and folly shun. 
She might secure a name bright as the noonday sun. 



A SONG 



OF 



SICILIAN LIBERTY. 



A SONG 



OF 



SICILIAN LIBERTY 



Through years of patient grief and toil, 

Through weariness and fear, 
We Ve been a tyrant's prey and spoil, 

And seen no hope appear. 
Now dawns a new and brighter day ; 
Our heavy chains we cast away, 

And Liberty we sing. 

Loud may our chorus ring ! 

Whate'er befall, whate'er may be, 
Our loved Sicilia shall be free. 



6*-^ A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. 

What fairer isle beneath the sun 

With constant verdure glows, 
Where mountain brooks more peaceful nin, 

Where lovelier blooms the rose ? 
But glories of the earth and sky 
Are naught, when joy and freedom fly. 

But now, all hail the time ! 

Let sound the inspiring chime ! 

For all our hearts beat high with glee ; 
Long crushed Sicilia shall be free I 

Free minds to think, free hearts to feel, 

Free hands to work, we claim ; 
And God hath heard our strong appeal, — 

All-glorious be his name ! 
Our constant guard shall freemen keep ; 
Our golden vales shall freemen reap ; 

Ecstatic hymns of praise 

Shall freemen's voices raise. 



A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. 63 

O God most high ! we trust in thee, 
That thou wilt keep Sicilia free. 

Long live the triple diadem 

Of Freedom, Peace, and Right, 
And he who hath united them 

In peerless lustre bright, — 
Whose words of fire, resounding wide, 
Have called the nations to his side ! 

Long live the freeman's friend ! 

Fond hopes his course attend ! 

Long may the Sovereign Pontiff be 
The guardian of Sicilia free ! 

Long live fair Albion, great and free, 

Our sister island brave ! 
Long live the Home of Liberty 

Beyond the Atlantic wave ! 



64 A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. 

Long on the vine-clad hills of France 
May Freedom's sun with splendor glance ; 

Past wrongs we all forgive. 1 

In peace, O, may we live ! 

i 

And this our patriot prayer shall be : — 
O Free Sicilia ! long live thee ! 

Palermo, March, 1848. 



THE 



PILGRIM'S EVENING PRAYER 



FOR 



HARVARD COLLEGE. 



THE 



PILGRIM'S EVENING PRAYER 



FOR 



HARVARD COLLEGE. 



Two hundred years have sped away, 
Since here, in holy mood, 

As slowly set the summer day. 
The lowly Pilgrim stood. 

To heaven he raised his pious hands. 
And thus His grace besought, 

Who from on high surveys all lands. 
And gives to each its lot : — 



68 THE pilgmm's etkxixg prayer 

'^* Thou God of wisdom, power, and might, 
Whose name we e'er have served, 

Who made our way of darkness light, 
Our souls in trial nerved, — 

" Who brought us o-er the wintry sea. 

A wilderness of waves, 
And bade our hearts undaunted be, 

'Mid many opening graves, — 

'• Who heard our prayer and sacred song, 

As on we gathered round. 
While savages were wondering long 

At the strange sisht and sound, — 

" Ha« may the light of science beam, 

With mild, diffusive rays ; 
Here may the choicest wisdom gleam, 

From mines of long past days. 



rOU HAKVAED COLLEGE. 69 

''Here may the fairest knowledge poor 

Its genial currents wide ; 
Here may the soul for goodness soar, 

With heavenward wings supplied. 

" Here may be spent a classic life, 

To break whose solitude 
No thoughts of anxious, worldly strife 

May ere their time intrude. 

" Here may thy Church, calm, uncontrolled, 

Her silver sceptre sway, 
And aD, within her peaceful fold, 

Her sacred will obey. 

" Here, from the pages of thy word, 

May holy wisdom shine. 
And Truth, incarnate in our Lord, 

Display its power divine.'^ 



70 THE pilgrim's EVENING PRAYER. 

As thus uprose to God on high 
The toil-worn Pilgrim's prayer, 

A seraph voice came softly by, 
As in the passing air, — 

" Thy heart let fear nor doubt invade ; 

God's message is to thee ; 
Since thou with faith and love hast prayed, 

Answered thy prayer shall be." 

The aged man's uplifted eye 

His inward joy expressed, 
And, 'neath his homely roof hard by, 

He gently sank to rest. 



AN ADDRESS 



TO 



THE POET LONGFELLOW 



AN ADDRESS 



TO 



THE POET LONGFELLOW 



Thy gentle strains, sweet poet, bring 
A thoughtful and serene repose. 

When o'er our souls the past hours fling 
The mantle of remembered woes. 

The young man, in the world's rude strife, 
Struggling with seeming fruitless toil, 

Shall hsten to thy Psalm of Life, 
And'bolder meet the rough turmoil. 



74 AN ADDRESS TO THE POET LONGFELLOW. 

Though he have seen misfortune's hour, 
Yet memories of the blessed dead 

Shall nerve him with diviner power, 
While near him Angel Footsteps tread. 

And when around him all is gloom. 
And he hath fought life's dreary war, 

Then shall he speak, when near the tomb. 
That holy word. Excelsior. 

Who shall a fairer picture find, 
Than where devoted love is seen, 

With simple grace serene enshrined. 
In saintly, sweet Evangeline ? 

Unto thy storied, happy home, 
By smiles of love still lovelier made, 

Poet, may fairest good e'er come. 
And may no grief thy heart invade. 



A TEIBUTE 



TO THE 



MEMORY OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 



A 



A TRIBUTE 



TO THE 



MEMORY OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 



There fell on him the heavy hand of death. 
His noble attributes of soul the esteem 
And love of all who saw him gained at once. 
To contemplation used, and habits mild 
Of patient, intellectual toil, he threw 
Unconsciously a charm of gentleness 
And grace about his quiet life, that made 
His presence blest. 



78 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

With such benignity- 
Serene was his exalted countenance 
Illumined, that e'en strangers gazed on him 
With rapt, inquiring interest. Calm faith 
And love to God his character informed, 
And crowned him with resplendence brighter far 
Than gemmed display of Oriental kings. 

His high imagination was so various, 
That now as lighted gossamer it seemed, 
Which, in the summer air, may stir 
By breath of smallest bird, and then massive. 
Substantial, as the lofty arch that is 
Unmoved for ages. 

Scenes of loveliness 
Or of impressive grandeur, with an eye 
That quickly marked the sweet variety 
Of God's creative hand, he saw. Remains 
Of long past days his mind with reverence filled. 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 79 

As he in silence mused upon their forms, 
And in his heart their deepest lessons kept. 
Life's shadowy mysteries, eternal truth, 
The soul's capacities, and man alike 
Mortal, immortal, oft his thoughts engaged. 

Thus images of beauty rare and clear 
Were stamped upon his imitative mind. 
These to portray in radiant colors mild. 
For the pure pleasure, with instruction joined. 
Of eye and soul, — this was the beauteous aim 
He sought to reach. 

Allegiance due he paid 
Unto his chosen art. Her mandates all. 
Severe or light, he obeyed with patient zeal. 
His firm determination was o'ercome 
By no obstructions. What, indeed, except 
Omnipotence itself, that first the mind 
With motive power supplied, can hold it back, 



80 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

Bent on its purpose with a stern resolve ? 
For raging seas, that continents divide, 
Majestic mountains, that opposing stand 
To all that would survey the scenes beyond, 
Wide, desert plains, that cause the traveller 
To faint with weariness and thirst, — all these, 
All nature's powers e'en, the will determined 
Subservient makes to its engrossing plan. 

In calm pursuance of his end, he first 
To that fair land beyond the waves repaired, 
Whose white and sunlit cliffs, far off beheld 
By the glad voyager, seem a silver crown 
Upon the glittering sea, — that isle renowned. 
Whose air with the sweet strains of Avon's swan 
Once quivered, and with his sonorous notes 
Who sang Lost Paradise, and converse held 
Familiar with seraphic powers and God 
Most high, — that isle, whose Gothic majesty 
Of mind the world irradiates, — Albion, 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 81 

Serenest gem in the bright diadem 
Of nations set. 

There with delight was seen 
The exceeding promise of his early powers, 
And he was urged, with prompt encouragement 
Sincere, upon his lofty course. Assured 
That rude originality alone, 
Untaught by painful diligence bestowed 
On works of others in calm Art's pursuit, 
True fame enduring seeks in vain, content 
Was he instruction meekly to receive 
From those, whose careful aid continuous 
His hopes inspired of highest excellence. 
When practice long, mature, should open wide 
xAt length a way peculiar, new, wherein 
Himself might walk sole master. 

Most of all 
He learned from him, whose name America 



82 A TEIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

And England hold in equal honor, — one 
His birth fond claiming as her own, the other 
Exulting that his laurels thick were given 
By her full patron hand, — from him, whose work: 
His time with strange variety surprised, 
Shakspeare of painters, West, whose great renown 
As was the bard's, in temporary shade, 
After his death, half-hid, shall likewise yet 
Emerge, and shine unclouded ever. 

Thus 
Impelled upon his way, the painter next 
The spoils of Art, with which imperial hands 
Had decked their palaces, surveyed. Anew 
His fervor was excited. Seeing all 
The examples various before him placed. 
Eclectic, wise, with quick, unerring sense 
Of Art's proprieties, attentively 
He studied whatsoe'er in each was marked 
With power innate, instructed, singular, 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 83 

To express grace, strength, emotion, all the just 
Requirements of design ; — and, then, the whole 
Selected group of Art's best qualities, 
Duly with thought original conjoined. 
Endeavoured truly to combine in one 
Ideal image of the artist's aim. 

In Italy, inspiring land of Art 
And song, that fill the soul with pleasure deep 
In concert passionate, perpetual. 
Where the still eye entranced gazes on forms 
Of fancy born, or of the historic page 
Illustrative, most exquisite, enshrined 
By cunning hands in stainless marble fair, 
Or in harmonious, changeful colors fit 
Attractively expressed ; — w hile time flies on 
Unnoted, and itself unheeding too 
The array persuasive, constant, rich, of grace 
Consummate, not by Art or Nature moved 
To linger briefest while in its decreed 



84 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

And solemn course ; — as busied eagerly 
The eye with joy dilates, sweet silvery sounds 
Of poesy float in air transparent, soft, 
And, falling on the unwary ear, enchain 
In ecstasy complete the mind, that, full 
Of keenest rapture e'en before, the strain, 
A new delight intrusive, seems at first 
With will half-willing only to receive ; — 
In Italy, by a sojourn of years. 
Upon the spirit of tlie artist were impressed 
Her influences noblest and most choice. 
Converse with friends congenial, silent thought. 
Insight serene of heavenly truth, calm hopes. 
Raised far above the approval of the crowd, 
Of future, lasting fame, and toil refined 
And delicate, with constancy pursued, 
Of pencil elegant, wortliily his time, 
In preparation for his purpose high. 
Earnest, unalterable, full employed. 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 85 

iVbroad, and in his much-loved native land, 
His fruits elaborate of cultured Art 
Admiring eyes attracted. Tasteful, keen 
Discernment of true beauty was beheld 
In his fine choice of subjects, and in right 
Expression of their various graces. Art 
He deemed too noble to be basely used 
For the exaltation of man's haughtiness 
And transient glory, but, more provident, 
He chose to picture forth what should e'er be 
In honor held, thus having double hope 
Of being long remembered, in just skill 
Of portraiture, and in the permanence 
Of his well-suited themes. Not here may be 
His numerous, radiant gallery described ; 
But let these pictures gain a brief regard : — 



I 



JACOB'S DREAM. 



The son of the blind, aged patriarch 
Journeys from home, blest with rich promises 



86 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

Of future good. Upon the rock}- earth 
He wearily reclines, deeply intent 
On the strange import, dimly seen, of words 
Prophetic. TM^ilst in slumbers deep he 's lost, 
A bright array of angels rainistrant, 
White-robed, innumerable, attend his dream. 
They with supernal light the glad earth gild. 
And wide disclose heaven's dazzling perspective 
And God's own voice resolves all mystery. 

MLRIA3I. 

The Red Sea safely crossed, the firm land gaine 
By Israel's children freed from senitude, 
The acclaim united by the people sung 
And guide, Miriam, the minstrel-prophetess. 
Responsive sings to the loud, choral joy. 
Ecstatic, irrepressible, proclaimed 
With timbrel, dance, concordant, easy song, 
By Jewish matrons on the free, broad plain ; 
Herself with song and dance and timbrel joined, 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 87 

graceful, sweet, melodious accord, — 
^* Jehovah's glorious victory praise ! Overthrown 
the deep sea the horse and rider he."' 

SAUL AND THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 

The Jewish sovereign is by the wide host 

Of the enemy afirighted, and comfort 

He seeks now from the lips of the seer dead, 

Whom living oft he heeded not, revived 

By the outlawed sorceress. Mysteriously, 

With shadowy, fearful form, he to the king 

Declares utter defeat, war's hardest fate. 

Death ignominious, and, far worse than all, 

The jewelled crown soon on the fair, brave youth 

With jealous eye long watched, and oft pursued 

With wrath relendess, to be set with praise. 



88 A TRIBUTE TO THE ME3I0ET 

ELIJAH IN THE DESERT. 

Elijah in the wilderness abides, 

From the rude, boisterous city far withdrawn 

By God's command. And there the lonely 

brook 
His thirst aUays, and the wild birds, guided 
By power divine, bring needful sustenance. 
In still communion with his Lord, whose will 
He steadfastly obeys, the prophet draws 
Strength to support his soul, long tried and grieved 
By wilful kings idolatrous, perverse, 
Unmindful of liis stern, inspired rebuke. 
Soon shall he leave his solitude, again 
With heavenly force renewed, to speak reproof 
To sinful, unrepenting men ; and soon 
The chariot of fire shall to the skies 
Triumphantly exalt his living frame. 



L OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 89 

L ...._.,..„..._ 

^L ELISHA DEAD. 

^Prhat other prophet, on whom glowing fell 
Elijah's mantle, now, his toil for truth 
And right fulfilled, within his sepulchre 
Lies low, in the repose of death. Xo frowns 
Of power boldly rebuked disturb him there. 
And, as the western evening sky is oft 
With richly blended rays o'erspread, e'en when 
The sun itself hath long since gone from sight, 
So an encircling halo spiritual 
The prophet's brow illumes, although the soul 
Hath to its home departed. A slow train 
Have come to place one in his last abode. 
But suddenly appears a hostile band. 
With fearful, utmost haste, the mourner's charge 
Into Elisha's tomb is thrown, when, lo ! 
By the instant touch of the dead prophet's frame, 
The man is startled into life, and looks, 



ft- 



90 A TRIBUTE TO THE M£MOSY 

As just awaked, upon the group now moved 
Bj the dread agency miraculous. 
It happened, when the fire, with hand unstayed, 
So many monuments of art consumed. 
That the eager, rolling flame impetuous 
Before this portraiture was strangely awed. 
Not daring, with destructive touch profane. 
To spoil the radiance from the man of God. 

JEREMIAH DICTATING TO BARUCH, THE 
SCRIBE. 

The faithful prophet, in the prison court, 
Sits undismayed by man's severity. 
While at his feet the attentive scribe bends low, 
And, gazing upwards on the prophet's face. 
Takes from his burning hp the threatening words 
Of sorrow and reproof, and, with quick hand. 
Transfers them to the parchment roll. The man 
Of God, though from the holy temple kept, 
Shall yet, by Baruch's voice, proclaim his call 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 91 

To penitence and service due. Near draws 
The solemn day of fast, on which the scribe 
His master's prophecy shall willing read. 
With Jeremiah's zeal he shall recount 
Ungrateful disobedience, numerous vears 
Of God's forbearance, his avenging power, 
His free forgiveness to be gained by prompt 
Renunciation of false wavs and wrona;. 

THE A>'GEL LIBERATING ST. PETER FROM 
PRISON. 

The servant apostolical, who once 
Denied his Master, but, repentant, long 
Contempt and persecution for his sake 
Endured, by walls thick, high, is firmly held, 
And guarded by fierce soldiers, o'er him set 
Through Herod's wrath revengeful. From on 

high 
An angel comes, and beauteous light 
His transverse wav attends. Within the cell. 



92 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

His presence spreads unearthly splendor, and 
He bids the sleeping, bound Apostle rise, 
Whose chains fall off, and he the voice obeys 
Through grace divine implanted. The outmost 

gate 
Unharmed they reach, and soon the free air 

breathe. 
As from a happy trance the Apostle wakes, 
Released, and the angel quick to heaven returns. 

ALPINE SCENERY. 

See where successive Alps lift up their heads, 
In gorgeous majesty of light and shade ; 
While o'er us seems to hang the radiant sky, 
As by its own will shining, not by hands 
Of imitative Art, and by white clouds 
Adorned, so clear, that the wide interval 
Between their glowing shapes irregular 
And the blue scene beyond almost to the eye 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 93 

Appears. The sunlight fills the calm, deep vale, 
And with such lively beauty are the trees 
Portrayed, that through their tracery dehcate 
Of foliage seems the gentle air to stir. 

LORENZO AND JESSICA. 

Lorenzo and his Jessica upon 

The raoonht bank are seated. All around 

Is still, except their playful, mild discourse. 

Soon music wakes the echoes of the night. 

And with delightful sadness fills the souls 

That Usten, rapt in memories and hopes. 

The lovely creatures of the poet's mind 

Are by the painter's pencil loveher made, 

Till eye and ear, both pleased, conl'ess how sweet 

Is song's alliance with the gentle art 

That maketh fancies plainly visible. 



94 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

ISAAC OF YORK. 

The Jew, with soitow stern, regards the men 

Unseen by us, who treat him with disdain. 

Of all the nations on the broad, green earth, 

His only wanders homeless and alone 

Among mankind, for wealth gains not respect. 

The gate to honor opes spontaneous 

To him, how vile so e'er, that wears the name 

Of Christian, if vast opulence be his, 

But 't is locked close against the noblest Jew, 

Whose treasures, though like those of Croesus, save 

Him not from coldest looks, harsh words and acts. 

That show sovereign contempt unmixed. In truth, 

How sadly has the surety been fulfilled, 

" His blood on us and on our children be " ! 

THE ANGEL IN THE SUN. 

In the sun's central glory the angel stands. 
Dazzling, majestical, whom saintly John 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 95 

In holy vision saw, and whom the bard, 
Though blind, with insight incorporeal 
Endowed, in holy numbers sung. With such 
Surpassing lustre he 's portrayed, that oft 
The gazing eye would fain be veiled 
Before the humanly created light, — 
Encomium highest of the painter's power. 

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 

I Last, view the sumptuous palace of the king 
Of rich, victorious, haughty Bal^^lon. 
Upon this festival, a thousand lords 
Their sovereign's call attend. Magnificence 
Far gathered there abounds, and idol-gods 
From lofty pedestals look proudly down 
Upon their myriad worshippers. Princes, 
And royal wives, luxuriously arrayed, 
The bright occasion grace. Hilarity 
Prevails, and with the smiles and flatteries 



96 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

Of courtiers is Belshazzar's heart elate. 

The gold and silver vessels, sacred spoils, 

In conquest from God's sanctuary seized, 

To the vast hall of pagan banquet now 

Are brought, — sad profanation ! — and the king. 

To increase the social joy, and signify 

Contempt for the True God, commands that wine 

Be from them quaffed by all his cheerful guests. 

The impious mirth proceeds, until a hand 
Writes an avenging sentence on the wall, 
Vivid, more brilliant than the unshaded sun. 
Light artificial, that, by proper skill 
Prismatic, all-resplendent shone before. 
Is in the new transcendent brightness lost. 
Belshazzar pales, and on the line of fire 
His eyes immovably are fixed. Just now 
Where pleasure reigned, terror triumphant holds 
O'er all its sceptre. Learned astrologers 
Are called, and seek by conjuration vain, 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 97 

In turn confounded, to resolve aright 

The emblazoned visitation. Soon the queen 

Comes near, solicitous, and speaks the name 

Of Daniel, prophet of the captive race. 

Who, summoned hastily, before the throne 

Of the humbled king stands, and with eloquent, 

Severe simplicity, to startled ears, 

Yet eager, tells the threatened doom at hand 

Of waste and subjugation. 

This chosen theme 
The painter's meditative hours engaged. 
The scene of stateliness and fear, he sought. 
In colors following his patient will, 
Effectively to note. His task progressed. 
There yet especially remained the sight 
Appalling to dehneate, that made 
Belshazzar tremble. As in thought profound 
He questioned earnestly his wondrous art. 
What diverse tints composed, what pencil's power 

7 



98 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY 

Occult, could duly with investiture 
Terrific clothe the speaking palace-wall, 
His guardian angel at his side appeared, 
And with a winning, silvery voice, that seemed 
The blissful echo of a heavenly harp, thus said: — 
" To set God's awful presence forth to view, 
A pencil in light primal dipped, that came 
By the Creator's word, and all-sufFused 
The universe, would fail. The attempt give o'er 
With dyes of art to express the rays intense 
That the unforeseen, swift judgment dread an- 
nounced 
Of Heaven's insulted majesty. Enough 
That thou hast formed the thought sublime. 
Thine aim leave unfulfilled, and I will lead 
Thee where thou mayst, rejoicing, ever see 
Unveiled, ineffable, all-gladdening light, 
That girds the eternal throne of God most high," 

He ended speaking, and then gently touched 



I 



OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 99 

The painter's beaUDg heart, and instant ceased 
Its quick pulsations. Then, from its abode 
Of threescore years, serenely rose the spirit. 
The seraph true, with glad, exultant haste, 
Conveyed it to its home, by grace secured, 
Of Joy, of Love, of Peace, of Light Divine. 



THOUGHTS 



ON 



GRAY'S ELEGY, 



AND 



BRYANT'S THANATOPSIS. 



THOUGHT S 



ON 



GRAY'S ELEGY AND BRYANT'S THANATOPSIS. 



The Churchyard Elegy, by England's bard, 
Of simple sadness and most tender thought 
Is full. The poet's eyes cast down regard 
The resting-place of those whom death's sure lot 
Hath caused to be by the great world forgot. 
Associations pensive clustering round 
The graves of those who life's stern war have 

fought 
Are in the elegiac portraiture all found. 
And in the melody the notes of woe resound. 



104 THOUGHTS ON GRAY's ELEGY 

Sweet household ties, and dear affections torn, 
High-beating hearts of gladness all made still. 
Merit retired, age by long trials worn, 
And all the impressions that the sad mind fill 
With deep emotion for man's mortal ill, — 
All these are in the Elegy expressed. 
The heart is softened, and the vigorous will 
That would aye strive for what is greatest, best. 
Is tempered by the thought, man's schemes must 
soon all rest. 

In that still time for meditation best, 
That thoughtful hour, the pleasant summer eve. 
The poet's steps wend towards the place of rest. 
O'er man's mortality awhile to grieve. 
Enchained by though tfulness, he cannot leave 
The spot, suggestive of so many scenes 
Of deep affections, to grant whose reprieve 
From their affliction no fond earthly means 
Availed, but o'er the grave the mourning form oft 
leans. 



AND Bryant's thanatopsis. 105 

With some bright robe of fancy, then, each 

mound 
He covers, as in solitude he strays 
In the lone churchyard, — consecrated ground. 
There, where repose the sun's calm, setting rays, 
The father lies, cut off in manhood's eager days. 
In yonder lonely spot, where seldom tread 
Those who desire to see where this world's praise 
Hath to the grave at last its subject led. 
There lies some gifted one, unknown, unhonored, 

dead. 

Gray's muse is like the bird that loves to haunt 
The abodes of man, and all the scenes near by, 
And also loves its plaintive hymn to chant 
'Mong cypress-trees, and thro' their leaves to fly, 

1; While, 'neath, the tombs in pensive shadows lie. 

f The mournful lay falls softly on the ear. 
And from the heart escapes an earnest sigh. 
For to all minds most natural and near 
Comes the sad requiem o'er all that is most dear. 



106 THOUGHTS ON GKAY's ELEGY 

But he, who hath in sombre numbers sung 
The vision of the all-conquering tyrant's sway, 
The wreath of sentiment mere hath not flung 
O'er the memorials of man's decay; 
But his profound and philosophic ray 
Hath plainly to the soul reflective showed, 
How, underneath the balmy, cheerful day, 
Where hath the tide of life for ages flowed, 
The seeds of spoiling death have been far broad- 
cast sowed. 

He looks not on the circumstance of death. 
But death itself with sternest eye he sees. 
And fearlessly, and with unquivering breath. 
The features that man cannot hope to appease 
By constant supphcation, or to please 
By lowest condescension, these he draws 
With a just pencil, from which truth ne'er flees. 
And he, in verse calm and sublime, the laws 
Describes of that dread power, of man's sore 
grief the cause. 



AND Bryant's thanatopsis. 107 

And while we hearken to the hymning deep, 
From the high mount contemplative we seem 
Upon the world, where generations sleep, 
To look. Upon this side to the sun's beam 
The earth's recesses lie disclosed, we deem, 
And all its myriads of mouldering forms. 
On the other lie the vales of hfe, that teem 
With thoughtless ones whom every passion 
warms, 
And who are subject all to life's sunshine and 
storms. 

Unto one churchyard he confineth not 
His musing on man's certain destiny ; 
But, in his strain, the soul is deeply taught 
In the whole earth one sepulchre to see. 
And outward things that to us seem to be 
Resplendent for the living man alone. 
With all their grace and their sublimity, 
He hath, with sober, but convincing tone, 
To be the decorations of man's wide grave shown. 



108 THOUGHTS ON GRAt's ELEGY 

And his rapt muse is like the eagle high, ' 
That soars majestic in the bracing air, 
And thence surveys with an unflinching eye 
Death's wide domain, most beauteous and fair. 
The full, unclouded sun shineth in splendor there, 
And he the vivid, startling truth portrays, 
How this great orb more death than life may 

bear. 
Full many signs impressive he displays, 
How through the crowded world man's wearv life 

decays. 

With sorrow personal the Elegy 
Inspires the mind. The Hymn to Deatli excites 
Such general feeling of man's vanity. 
That ended seem mild nature's dear delights ; 
They pass away in swift and sombre flights. 
And in the regions of the dead we seem 
To be, and in one moment the long nights 
Of dark oblivion, with no cheering beam. 
We almost seem to feel, so graphic is the theme. 



AND Bryant's thanatopsis. 109 

But when one has contemplated the tomb, 
The presence of that genial hope he needs, 
Which soon dispels the churchyard's silent gloom, 
The musing mind to brighter prospects leads, 
Which brighter glow, as earth itself recedes ; 
x\nd when the hand hath led us near to see 
The vale of death, whose power the sad muse 

reads. 
We wish that it would upward point, that we 
May comfort gain from hopes of immortality. 

In humble sequence of these noble strains, 
That often have to thought awaked the mind. 
Which, with the heart's assent, the fancy gains, 
Such sentiments are in the verse enshrined. 
Such wreaths of poesy have the theme entwined, 
The hope that reason and religion bring, 
^ Which one may in their sanctions truly find. 

The purpose is within my heart to sing ; 
And may a heavenly muse o'ershade me with its 
wing ! 



A VISION 



OF 



IMMORTAL LIFE 



A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 



When thoughts of man's irrevocable fate 
The mind o'ershadow in some lonely hour, 
Hear what the Scriptures to the ear relate, 
To sootlie thee with a calm and sacred power. 
Theirs is the assurance, that the blissful bower 
Of life immortal may then meet the sight. 
When o'er the form shall death's dark sceptre 

lower ; 
For though he may the vision close in night. 
His cold breath cannot quench the spirit's radiant 

light. 



114 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 

And when the mild, low, grateful, cheering tone. 
Which the mind used in interchange of thought, 
Hath ceased, and left us, full of grief, alone. 
And we in secret sigh and mourn our lot. 
The desolation which hard death hath wrought. 
Yet conscious still is the departed soul. 
And it may hold communion, we are taught. 
With holy seraphs, while long ages roll, 
Although the once warm frame lie 'neath the 
churchyard knoll. 

For though the cold, pale lips refuse to move, 
In social, friendly converse e'en once more, 
And to the mind o'erburdened sadly prove 
How fast is closed the separating door. 
Which might the spirit to this world restore ; 
Yet, in the hour when most the heart repines 
For loss of what afforded joy before. 
That one for whom it grieves, beneath the vines, 
In groves immortal, green, in peaceful rest re- 
clines. 



• 



A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 115 

When, too, the eyes' bright, gladsome, winning 

beams 
With intellectual life no more may glance, 
While the whole spirit from the expression gleams. 
And dazzling beauty gilds the countenance, 
On which who looks is held in blissful trance ; 
And when no more, rapt in deep thoughtfulness, 
They may survey the heavens' wide expanse, 
O'erflow with pity or with happiness. 
Or send back looks of love, that cause deep blessed- 
ness ; 

When they no more with piercing brilliancy 
May flash out, by some sudden influence. 
And when, in sad and earnest entreaty. 
The friends of many years, with gaze intense, 
Seek, but in vain, to excite the answering sense, 
And although, then, corporeal means decay 
Of the soul's vision, yet that strong defence 
Against all ill, the essential spirit, may 
Preserve unharmed its power, through bright, 
unending day. 



116 A VISION OF IMMOETAL LIFE. 

Ooe dull expression onlr marks the face ; 
No more it shows emotion deep and strong, 
When it lies close in death's cold, still embrace. 
No more the ear is charmed by pleasant song, 
When vernal airs melodious notes prolong. 
No more the sound of gently whispering trees, 
Or running brooks, the thickets green among ; 
Voices of friends ; the birds' soft harmonies, 
When full of hfe they sing ; the roar when break 
the seas ; — 

Not e'en one lovely sight or pleasant sound, 
That each keen sense observing daily met, 
Longer can wake the soul ; for there abound 
Above, and never will they fade or set, 
A sun's bright, spiritual rays, that yet 
Have not illumed this darksome world; and, blest 
By peerless glory, the free soul will let 
No joys of earth intrude upon its rest, • 
Where it e'er dwells among scenes brightest, 
holiest, best. 



A VISION OF IXMOETAL LIFE. 117 

What, then, if death thj friends shall take away, 
With whom shall thine own happiness die too, 
And, last, thyself shalt lose the light of day, 
And ne'er again this world's fair scenes review ? 
If thou hast faith, complete and steadfast, true, 
In Him who hath immortal life revealed, — 
Whose brow on earth was wet with midnight dew, 
As, on the mount, apart from all he kneeled, 
Where to his Father he might pour his grief con- 
cealed, — 

From whose side flowed a full, sufficient stream, 
To sweep away the guiltiness of earth, — 
On Him, if thou and thine shall ever beam 
I With looks of faith and love, then, happy birth ! 
Into thy soul may spring, though aU be dearth 
Around thee, an assurance of repose. 
And blessedness exceeding this world's mirth, 

9 

As highest bliss exceeds the deepest woes. 
Thou shalt breathe hopes of life when death thine 
eyes shall close. 



118 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 

Nor in the grave confined for e'er shall be 
Those who have ended life's full care and toil. 
Christ hath arisen, and by his decree, 
Death shall not hold for aye his vaunted spoil. 
For might superior shall make him recoil ; 
His charge long kept he then shall quick re- 
sign, 
And, beatific, from earth's opening soil 
Shall spirit-forms, all-radiant and benign, 
Ascend in ecstasy, where endless glories shine. 

The sage philosophers of old, 'tis said. 
Indulged in dreams of immortality. 
They dared not think to lie in the grave's bed. 
While should the soul fall in vacuity. 
And hence, in thought profound, most eagerly 
Some genial solace for the soul they sought. 
And felt that they .were blest beyond degree. 
When e'en allowed to hope a different lot. 
Yet fond conjecture sole their meditation brought 



A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 119 

And on the bold, but comforting, surmise. 
That an imperishable germ within 
Man, seeming mortal, lived, that would arise 
From death triumphant, and new life begin. 
They built high dreams of bliss. Amid the din 
Of wrangling schools of sages, one desire 
Remained the same, that, some time, freed from 

sin. 
The man might glow with an immortal fire, 
Though all his earthly part should utterly expire. 

But not mere aspiration high, serene, 
Need satisfy the Christian's eager mind. 
On safer pillar may he faithful lean 
Than sage's dream in classic lore enshrined. 
For what man's reasoning could not surely find 
Is all recorded on the Gospel's page. 
With amaranthine wreath his brow entwined, 
When he shall leave life's active, busy stage, 
Shall he advance in peace through Heaven's im- 
mortal age. 



i 



120 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 

Eternal days, too, ere the world began, 

Or ere death had been known, or seen, or 

feared. 
When yet was uncreated mortal man, 
Seraphic myriads in heaven appeared, 
And, bowing low, the powder supreme revered, 
And still, with harp and choral hymn combined. 
Their days they pass in blessedness endeared. 
No intermission of their joy they find ; 
In robes ethereal, pure, their spirits are enshrined. 

How many conscious worlds that ne'er knew ill 
May hold communion in the spirit-land ! 
What measureless capacities may fill 
That vast, angelic, and all-holy band 
Of spirits, that, throughout the immense and grand 
Extent of God's wide universe, may fly 
From orb to orb, from starry strand to strand ! 
And chanting choirs may pour their music nigh, 
As the blest visitants their sunny pinions try. 



A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 121 

With them, the faithful from time's earliest day, 
Who through the gates of death above have 

passed. 
Rejoice in many a bright and genial ray. 
From the resplendent throne of God far cast, 
Which in the midst of Paradise stands fast. 
And countless ones redeemed from time around 
Sing his almightiness, both first and last, 
In songs that through celestial arches sound, 
And from the jasper walls eternally rebound. 

What wondrous meaning, then, each act of life, 
Viewed in the Hght of heavenly day, shall bear ! 
How all scenes here, surrounded by deep strife, 
In contrast with immortal zeal and care, 
Will fade in splendor, although passing fair ! 
For what serenest beauty earth can show 
Can with supernal loveliness compare ? 
In heaven the streams of bliss divine e'er flow, 
And through the tree of life celestial breezes blow. 



^ 



122 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 

Let not thine heart, then, be by grief oppressed, 
When thou considerest well man's mortal lot ; 
For what thou raournest is a calm, deep rest 
For faithful ones, that, dying, still die not. 
They have more life than when alive. Their 

thought 
As far exceedeth ours in power and height 
As the sun's rays, by swiftest journey brought 
To illume the world with glory, dazzling, bright. 
Surpass the deepest gloom of still and starless 

night. 

Thou mayst console thy now deserted heart 
With the reunion of beloved friends. 
What gifts celestial truth may free impart. 
The soul shall feel that to it e'er attends, 
When low his head in deep affliction bends. 
The hope felicitous then shall arise, 
Which troubled ones from wild despair defends. 
With joy may he look upward to the skies. 
Where ne'er shall sundered be affection's holy ties. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 



" I sonaetimes think, could I recall the days which are past, which among 
them would I choose." 



In one of the most lovely, quiet vales 
Of Persia's land, where images of grace 
Ideal seem in beauteous hills and dales 
To be expressed, though man may dare debase, 
By sway tyrannical, strange beauty's trace, 
There lived an aged man, who long had borne 
A weight of sorrows, and whose withered face 
I Showed him to be afflicted and forlorn; — 
fA look more pale and sad have ne'er man's features 
worn. 



126 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

The friends of many years, to cheer him now 
With converse sweet, no longer to him came ; 
To man's last tyrant they were forced to bow, 
Who, soon or late, lays prostrate man's strong frame 
The partner of his life and of his name i 

Had been long since within the cold grave laid ; 



His children also, suffering fate the same. 
Had, one by one, their couch in darkness made ; 
All, all whom best he loved their last sad debt hai 
paid. 

And, like a brook which, in the summer time, 
Flowed gladly through scenes by soft beauty blest, 
As though it felt the mild and genial clime. 
And, purling onward, sought some place of rest ;-l 
When coming Autumn hath full soon depressed 
The season which the earth most blissful made, 
And ripened fruitage with its genial zest. 
When faded are the trees whose grateful shade 
Was cast upon the brook meandering through T 
glade, — 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 127 

When loveliest verdure from the banks hath gone, 
When sights around the soul to sadness turn, 
And, where the sun v^^ith dewy splendor shone, 
Now sere with heat the once fresh valleys burn. 
And yellow now appears the modest fern ; — 
Like this same brook the old man's life now 

seemed. 
His pleasures were no more, and deep concern 
Usurped the place whence fond enjoyment 

gleamed ; 
No radiant, happy star upon his pathway beamed. 

Back on his younger days, with keen regret, 
Though not unmixed with pleasantness, his eye 
He often turned. His soul had not then met 
Those sorrows that the human spirit try, 
Yet from which can no mortal being fly. 
That full of woe, as well as joy, is life, 
He, full of years, knew too well to deny. 
He had seen agony, mishap, and strife. 
And knew with what deceit is man's deep nature rife. 



128 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

As he contemplated the by-gone days, 
The thought once came to his still-musing mind, 
As he lay pensive 'neath the sunset rays, 
That Allah, in omnipotence enshrined, 
Would for his troubled soul some solace find. 
Perhaps he might enjoy the past again. 
Whose blissfulness sweet fancy's wreaths entwine( 
Once more, perhaps, would come the joyous train 
Of early, much-loved friends, to make his spirit fain. 

Then, to the Deity his fathers served, 

This suppHcation, in humility, 

He offered : — '' Allah ! thou hast ever nerved 

The souls of those who to thee lowly flee, 

When they distressed for any cause may be. 

Thou know'st how full of grief my latter days 

Have been, how woe's dark wing hath sprea 

o'er me, 
How I have wandered in a tangled maze, 
How full of thorns have been my life's long, devioi 
ways. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 129 

" The recollection of my former self 
Is the sole tie that binds me to this earth. 
My inmost heart disdains its sordid pelf. 
This boon I crave, though I have little worth 
To make appeal. Within my soul is dearth. 
Cause me to be again a happy youth, 
All-vigorous, and moved by rosy mirth, 
Not knowing yet how rarely steadfast truth 
May in the world be found, or mild and helpful 
ruth. 

" Once more on my unruffled, youthful brow, 
Where age hath slowly set his signal gray, 
Let the mild airs of spring play joyful now ; 
Let these dim eyes resume their brilliant ray ; 
These limbs, my tottering frame that hardly stay, 
Invigorate with healthful strength and new ; 
Bid flowers of youth once more adorn my way. 
Let love of what is excellent and true 
Inspire my mind with zeal its mandates to pursue. 

9 



130 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

" Bid youth's vivacity and hopes return ; 
Or, il' the boon I crave must be denied, 
Grant me a spirit of content, to learn 
That it is best by thy will to abide, 
Which aye directs life's calm or boisterous tide; 
That I may ne'er ungraciously repine. 
But in thy mercy always safe confide. 
Behold the glories in thy works that shine, 
And by thy righteous law my willing steps in- 
cline." 

And now, exhausted, he reclined to rest. 
And soon was held in slumber's easy chain. 
By Allah's high, omnipotent behest. 
Not long the aged man in sleep had lain, 
Ere wondrously he seems new life to gain. 
Friends of his childhood's hours gather round, 
In bright and happy, eager, laughing train. 
The songs of birds, and every pleasant sound, 
Awake his senses dull, which with sweet bhss 
abound. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 131 

A mother's voice, long silent, now he hears, 
And on him beams a father's thoughtful smile ; — 
And every scene that memory endears 
Comes vividly before his mind, the while 
Delightful visions his deep woe beguile. 
Once more a happy youth, he onward springs 
Through many a valley green and low defile, 
And many a verdant, sunny hill-side rings 
With his shrill voice, as he his notes of gladness 
sings. 

Fancy begins her airy web to trace 

Before his eyes, and through this unseen veil 

The distant future wears a smiling face. 

No cares perplexing yet his heart assail; 

His life is cheered by fortune's favoring gale. 

Which onward speeds him with its bracing 

power ; 
To crown his joy all pleasant means avail ; 
With treasures of delight abounds each hour ; 
Upon his youthful way no raging tempests lower. 



132 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

Yet, soon dissatisfied with youth's estate, 
He pines to reach ambition's luring dreams. 
His aims to reach becomes he loath to wait. 
The future glows with such transcendent gleams, 
That anxious for life's contest now he seems, 
Once full of glee, now moved with discontent, 
While with high purposes his bosom teems. 
To show the energy that God hath lent 
In some high, great career, his steadfast mind is 
bent. 

Once more he supplicates, with reverence meet. 
The power that the whole universe sustains. 
" Allah ! low bend I, suppliant, at thy feet. 
My soul is filled with eager, longing pains 
To join life's conflict, and to share its gains. 
The vigor which thou hast bestowed on me 
I would employ where zeal controlling reigns. 
A man 'mong men 't is my desire to be, 
And mingle in the world's most earnest company. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 133 

"^ I wish not always among trees and flowers 
To play, upon the lofty stars to gaze, 
And comprehend not their strange, mystic powers. 
My destiny, through all ray granted days 
I would fulfil, and walk in busy ways. 
In the great world let me my station find. 
Let me with boldness meet the sun's hot rays. 
Display new, varied scenes before my mind. 
And let not always youth my waiting spirit bind." 

And now the boy becomes a man of nerve. 
In ruddy glee no longer now he plays. 
From his bold purpose he means not to 

swerve ; 
In act determined will he spend his days; 
His aims in splendor fancy now arrays; 
He longs to ope bright honor's golden gate, 
That from afar sends forth alluring rays. 
He strives right eagerly, both soon and late. 
And is all-resolute in man's engrossing state. 



134 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

Opposed, the firmer courage he displays. 
Long-cherished hopes he happily fulfils, 
And, with new ardor, he new plans assays. 
With manly love his noble bosom thrills. 
Whose whispering soft each rising murmur stills. 
By kind domestic sympathy he 's cheered. 
Like sweet, harmonious, smoothly-gliding rills. 
The life of him and of his most endeared 
Now seem. Their happiness no rude, rough blast 
hath seared. 

Misfortune had not yet her look of scorn 
Thrown upon him. Pleasure to him had sung 
No syren-song, of fatal ruin born. 
Hopes beautiful, of excellence, yet clung 
Around his heart. Fear had no warning rung. 
So occupied is he in life's full care, 
Beyond this world his thoughts are seldom flung. 
Although about him are distress, despair. 
No flower hath faded yet in his own pathway fair. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 135 

But disappointment, with its sombre wing, 
At length o'ershadows all his plans most dear. 
The afflictive hand of heaven's high, peerless King 
The fire of sorrow fans. Its hot breath near 
Parches the soul. His children die. Now fear 
Distempers all his former sweetest joy. 
His face is wet with many a bitter tear. 
His energy he cannot now employ. 
Mild nature's pleasant sights his saddened eyes 
annoy. 

And now the sharer of his joy and grief 
Evanishes from his admiring side. 
Despair o'er him prevails, and no relief 
Or soothing comfort can his soul abide. 
He seems the sport of woe's deep, ceaseless tide. 
His hopes of worldly grandeur and renown 
Have, with his latest, deepest sorrow, died. 
His heavy eyes are now always cast down, 
And he ne'er sees man's smile, or e'en his scorn- 
ful frown. 



136 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

Now more he thinks upon that future time, 
When all the scenes of this world shall be 

o'er. 
He cares no more the hill of fame to climb ; 
He waits no longer at wealth's open door ; 
Ambition's heat now burns in him no more. 
He hopes for some approaching, quiet hour. 
When his crushed spirit, with keen arrows sore. 
Shall, in calm solitude, receive some power, 
That shall to it become a strong, protecting tower. 

At length old age, with its enfeebling power. 
His eyes makes dim, and tremulous his speech. 
He murmurs not that now has come the hour 
He had so long desirous been to reach. 
The lessons that life's many sorrows teach 
Have deeply sunk within his aged heart. 
No longer youth he wishes to beseech ; 
No more he mingles in the world's great mart; 
From all its troubled scenes he hopeth to depart. 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 137 

And thus to Heaven his grateful heart declares 
His thankfulness: — " Allah ! since thy decree 
All-wise hath filled my days with sorrow's cares, 
The time I welcome that hath come to me. 
What need have I of fearless energy, 
When almost every tie is sundered now 
Of love, that made my days pass happily? 
'T is well the frost of age is on my brow. 
'T is well my feebleness maketh my head to bow^ 

" The hoary head gaineth from men esteem, 
When most 'tis needed. When the weary mind 
Seeks less upon the outward world to gleam, ^ 
But inward turns, in thoughtfulness to find 
Rest for itself, to Allah's will resigned, — 
Then dim becomes the eye, whose free, swift 

glance 
The chains of age with force increasing bind. 
Exterior life seems but a passing trance. 
The heart's emotions then their native powers 
enhance. 



138 THE AGED PERFIAN. 

" The limbs are weak, when one desires rest 
In solitude domestic, not to roam 
Abroad with eagerness and youthful zest. 
Then more attractive is one's quiet home 
Than all the splendor 'neath the sky's blue dome. 
The speech likewise is measured, soft, and 

slow ; 
For it must age most seriously become, 
That what experience maketh it to know 
Should in low-spoken words of solemn import flow. 

"The mind unconscious seems of present scenes, 

Yet recollection of the past is bright. 

And many a flower from youth's path it gleans, 

Whose form and fragrance yet afford delight. 

The future also dawns upon the sight. 

And fewer objects then may intervene 

To obscure the view of heaven's far-shining 

height. 
What all the woes and joys of life may mean 
Is clearer by the soul's keen inward vision seen." 



THE AGED PERSIAN. 139 

It was just now, when he began to be 

Conscious of age, that he awoke from sleep. 

And thus exclaimed : — " Allah hath ti.-»swer- 
ed me, 

And taught a lesson of contentment deep, 

From which I may sweet consolation reap. 

My life all o'er again I now have spent. 

In dreams my soul shall ever faithful keep, 

As the persuasive teachings Heaven has lent 

To bid my soul repose, on Allah's will intent. 

*' My youthful days desired I to renew. 

Nor thought that with the joys of youthful years 

Would come the longings that young minds 

imbue 
To move in the great world, despite of fears, 
Of sorrows, crosses, and of many tears. 
Now doubly hath my trial made me know, — 
And him who taught, my grateful soul reveres, — 
That every period of life may show 
How many ardent cares from discontent may flow. 



140 THE AGED PERSIAN. 

" The longing for a happy, future time 
Assumes with age a noble dignity, 
For then it looks beyond this transient clime, 
To the vast period of eternity. 
To bow always to Allah's firm decree 
Is for the humble soul the way most sage ; — 
For having wished, alas ! most thoughtlessly. 
To see again my life's first, pleasing stage. 
Most willingly I find myself o'ercome by age." 



PALERMO 



PALERMO. 



O'er fair Palermo's crown of beauteous hills 
The summer sun, with radiant face, declines, 
And the wide scene with ruddy splendor fills. 
The orange groves, and varied running vines, 
Glow with new richness, as the glad orb shines. 
The olive-trees their gnarled branches show ; 
Their pale-green leaves move in soft, graceful 

lines. 
Mild -tempered airs with pleasant freshness blow. 
The high and stony founts with streams cool con- 
stant flow. 



144 PALERMO. 

How sweetly comes the murmur of the sea, 
The wide, encircling shore that ever laves ! 
How softly breathes its soothing melody ! 
Sometimes in calmness beat the silent waves ; 
Sometimes the sea in foaming surges raves ; 
But now the air with no rude force is stirred ; 
The fierce winds are confined within their 

caves ; 
O'erhead floats many a swift and gleesome 

bird ; 
Glad sounds of merry life at intervals are heard. 

With what delight the observer cannot tell 
His eye surveys the scene extended wide, 
The well-named valley of the golden shell. 
Upon the sloping mountain's verdant side, 
The Monastery is afar descried. 
In its white, glittering beauty all arrayed. 
And within view of the blue, ceaseless tide. 
Thence the broad prospect of soft light and shade 
Once gladly seen can ne'er from recollection fade. 



PALERMO. 145 

Here in their cloisters live the brotherhood, 
And look down on the city far below. 
Their orisons no idle clamors rude 
Disturb. Their altars with the flowers that grow 
In beauty round them they adorn, and low 
Ascends their matin and their vesper strain." 
The tall, dark cypress doth its shadow throw 
Upon the winding walk, where oft a train 
Of monks may wander long, when the sun's disk 
may wane. 

How many changes hath the silent past ! 

What various races in this lovely vale 

Have lived, while the same clustering stars have 

cast 
Their radiance o'er the mountain and the dale ! 
The Eastern voyager by the speeding gale 
Hath been impelled to this three-cornered isle, 
And, on that plain now still, hath dared assail 
The native rough, and his rude power revile. 
Compelled at length to own the stranger's mightier 
guile. 

10 



146 PALERMO. 

Also the Roman power, outspreading wide 
From its resplendent centre, found its way 
Through southern Italy, and o'er the tide, 
And here established its triumphant sway. 
While golden Ceres cheered the harvest day. 
The tongue in which proud Caesar spoke his 

will, 
Which Romans were compelled at once to obey, 
Resounded then from every neighbouring hill, 
And in rapt fancy's ear its cadence lingers still. 

The conquering Saracen, with cruel might. 
Throughout the isle relentless havoc bore ; 
And where was once the Christian temnle's site, 
Now the strange Prophet's shrine the green earth 

w'ore. 
But that to him is sacred now no more. 
The Christian sway at length regained the seat 
Where it had been for many a year before. 
In yonder ancient, narrow, winding street. 
One's eye the lifted cross in the uncouth mosque 

may meet. 



PALERMO. 147 

His sumptuous capital the Saracen 
In this recess of sought Palermo made. 
Strange structures and grotesque he builded then. 
His swarthy, turbaned followers assayed 
To keep the region they had dared invade ; 
And oft the Grecian and the Roman arms, 
That still about the isle revengeful stayed, 
They boldly met, aroused by new alarms, 
Resolved to hold their prize free from invaders' 
harms. 

Yet when, at last, the impetuous Normans came, 
He could not their determined force withstand. 
Who sought by sieges long and hard to tame 
The raging foe from their hot, native land. 
The valiant Norman, with his chosen band. 
Conquered the isle. Here was his brilliant court. 
The breezes from the sea the hot brows fanned 
Of those who had fought bravely for the fort 
With which the x\rab sought to keep his favorite 
port. 



1^ PAI.E&JIO. 

And when die ^rand array of NormaD kiDs:s 
Hare qoickhr passed before the musiog eye. 
With the Imperial name of Hemy rings 
The starded air, and many a bitter cry 
Is beard, commingled with a heavy sigh. 
Boben's and Roger's bold succession now 
Are forced in torn fit>m Sicily to fly, 
And to the grasping sceptre low to bow. 
Their works of art and skill an alien court endow, 

But Papal jealousy at length awakes. 
Once more the crown of Sicily becomes 
The conqueror's meed, for Charles of Anjou 

breaks 
The German's southern sway. He hiihei 

roams. 
To found for men of France enduring homes. 
His troubled reign here lasts but a brief while. 
When he and his beneath Italian domes 
The playful hours in luxury b^uile, 
The foe their plans mature in many a still defile. 



149 



Outside the citj, on the bold cbampaigo, 
A chapel lifts the cross onto the skj. 
Thence comes the blow against the oppressive rei^o. 
The vesper bell's soft mosic flmteth bj, 
Aod citizens mild, seeming peaceful, oigh 
Approach, as if devotion were their aim. 
But they have sworn the foreign ioe shall die. 
Not lovehest innocence their hate can tame. 
And vengeful passions dire their ruthless hearts in- 
flame. 

And now pass o'er an interval of years. 
And yet the Spaniards hold the favored land. 
Hark ! what acclaims of joy, what raptoroas cheers. 
Salute Imperial Chaiies, with his own band 
Of faithful friends. He hath just left the strand 
Of Africa, bound thither to subdue 
The treacherous chieftain, and his force withstand. 
The joyful city, with allegiance true, 
Their sovereign's valiant form make eager haste to 
view. 



150 PALERMO. 

The gate that looks out on the shining sea 
Palermo wide displays, and cheerful greets 
The advancing monarch, with due courtesy. 
The populace, through all her crowded streets. 
Triumphant Charles with graceful action meets. 
To the great church their way the people wend. 
Each patriot heart with hope exulting beats. 
And all with eagerness his voice attend, 
While he makes solemn vow their just rights to 
defend. 

The court of Charles was full of valiant men. 
Here Hves the princely heir of Cortes bold. 
Would that the same facile and graceful pen 
That hath the Conquest o'er the Aztecs told,- 
And their domain enriched with mines of gold. 
Would condescend the story to relate 
Of this fair isle, and her strange lot unfold. 
Display the splendors of each varying state 
That ruled successive o'er her destiny and fate ! 



PALERMO. 151 

But let me not in verse seek to narrate 
The trials, struggles, many a fierce revolt, 
The cry for freedom, and the bold debate, 
The rising people and their quick assault, 
That marked at times the ages past. Whose fault. 
Whether of rulers arrogant and bad, 
Or of the ruled determined not to halt 
In reckless contests resolute and mad, 
The Muse shall not decide, in contemplation sad. 

Yet will she hope that justice, truth, and love 
May spread through all these vales their blissful 

sway. 
That God may look from his high throne above. 
And here diffuse a gloom-dispelling ray. 
That shall bring on a peaceful, happy day. 
And may the light of law and freedom shine 
In equal splendor, and may all essay 
With liberty best prudence to combine. 
Laurels unstained with blood shall then their 

brows entwine. 



152 PALERMO. 

Many have oft in this Palermo found 
From civil troubles a secure retreat, 
Who have fled hither from the usurper's ground. 
Not many years have sped away most fleet, 
Since, near where one's inquiring sight may meet 
The halls ancestral of Sicilian kings, 
An exile lived, dismissed by the defeat 
Of ancient rule, of which e'en now fame rings. 
O'er him hath hovered Fate, with bright and som- 
bre wings. 

The son illustrious of a noble hne, — 
What various trials hath his life displayed ! 
A needy wanderer, forced in want to pine, 
In different lands a brief abode he made. 
Sometime in blood his own dear France doth 

wade ; — 
Her crown of gold upon his head hath stood ; 
But all its glory men have seen to fade. 
My pen would not scorn him with insult rude. 
But briefly thus express his strange vicissitude. 



PALERMO. 153 

And recently, doffing the care of state, 
The Imperial Russian, with his consort, came 
To this abode, where wintry airs abate 
Their piercing cold, and their fierce rigor tame. 
Health ne'er respecteth e'en a royal name, — 
It had to pain left one a victim now. 
A courteous welcome did all hearts inflame. 
Benevolence an empress may endow 
With lustre brighter far than dazzling, jewelled 
brow. 

And yet so deep an interest o'er thy site, 
Palermo, not thy history can throw, 
Nor can afford so great and deep delight 
Thy valleys green or sunset's richest glow. 
As from sweet converse with one's friends may 

flow. 
The desert e'en becomes a land of gold, 
If friendship there its pleasantness may show, 
And without that, no gladness can enfold 
The spirit, though it dwell where soft skies e'er 

have rolled. 



154 PALERMO. 

But when with nature's loveliness abides 
The spirit that attracteth friend to friend, 
A nobler grace then in the scene resides. 
The valleys lovelier to the view extend. 
The sun's rays light more bright and cheering 

send, 
The mountains, then, are clothed with beauty 

new, 
And pleasant sounds with each more pleasing 

blend. 
Such is the spell that springs from friendship true, 
When the whole mind its force may thoroughly 

imbue. 



X O TE 



ALPINE SCENERY. 

(See Page 92.) 

See where successive Alps their summits high 
Lift up in majesty of light and shade, 
While o'er us seems to hang the deep blue sky, 
As by its own will shining, not by aid 
Of imitative art. White clouds are laid 
On the wide, circling heavens, glittering, clear. 
Wide, natural spaces cunning hands have made 
Between them and the scene beyond to appear. 
The grandeur of the view e'en moves the soul with 
fear. 



158 ALPINE SCENERY. 

The deep vale smiles in sunshine without glare, 
And seems a spot where peace might aye abide 
In blissful solitude. The summer air 
The foliage stirs of beauteous trees, beside 
The way that hft their crowns, wherein might 

hide 
The mountain-birds harmoniously that sing, 
And in their joyous liberty confide, 
And from their throats a full, deep chorus fling, 
And make the calm, broad scene with their glad 
echoes ring. 



LORENZO AND JESSICA. 

(See Page 93.) 

Lorenzo and his Jessica dark-eyed 
On the cahn, moonlit bank are seated. Still 
All sounds have now become on every side, 
Excepting that each one, with pleasant will, 
Strives eagerly in love's discourse, until 
Sweet music wakes the echoes of the night. 
And, like the sound of a steep mountain rill. 
The listening souls o'erpower with sad delight, 
Li blissful memories rapt, and dreamy hopes all 
bright. 



160 LORENZO AND JESSICA. 

To the fair creatures of the poet's mind 
The pencil's hues new, lovelier grace impart, 
Until the eye and ear enchanted find 
How sweet is Song's alliance with the Art 
That maketh fancies graven on the heart 
All manifest before the gazing eye, / 
Until the frame with pleasure's thrill may start ; 
And whoso looks shall, though glad, thoughtful 
sigh, 
Lest from the memory should the graceful pic- 
ture fly. 



THE END. 



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